


Perhaps, it was the masks

by RainingPrince



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale's pronouns change, Canon Compliant, Clothes, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crowley's Pronouns change, Exploration of Relationships, Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Halloween, I actually did a lot of research for this, Light Angst, Masks, Metaphysical Intimacy, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not much of a plot, Original Character(s), Other, POV Alternating, Technically Gabriel is mentioned but only briefly and he doesn't have a speaking role so, but it gets feelsy, but still a happy ending, fountains, gender? what is that?, obligatory drunk scene, oops I spilled my thesaurus all over this, they aren't super prominent but I needed the tension, this got miltonian really fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 08:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21250724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: Venice, 1531.Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves at the same masquerade; and the extra layer of anonymity brings an unexpected comfort.





	1. February 19th, 1531 - Venice

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out [my reading playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SClTozdn0fltuq5Fxoqu2?si=CbVKLsmNQeKAPVOwnI2nFQ) on Spotify, it's got great ambiance for the vibe I was going for in later chapters.
> 
> Thank you to my betas! [Unholyfrank](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unholyfrank/pseuds/Unholyfrank)  
(I will have to gather more usernames, if you beta'd for me and your username is not on this list please DM me on Discord so I can credit you properly <3)

Aziraphale walked into the room. He was very late.

It had not been his fault, he would be sure to make that quite clear if anyone asked. He had been blindsided that afternoon by unexpected guests* who had come by to give him some new orders. This had unfortunately turned into an hour-and-a-half-long incident, despite Aziraphale’s desperate attempts to kick them out.

[*read: Gabriel and an angel Aziraphale realized after the fact hadn’t spoken a word.]

The angel had been so flustered, he had initially forgotten he was on his way to a masquerade and had left his lodgings in his regular clothes.

He had gotten nearly halfway to the palace, realized his mistake, and promptly turned back around.*

[*The realization that he was perfectly capable of fixing this with a miracle and saving himself the trouble of the extra walk had never occurred to him. A sign that some might look back on as evidence that he was getting altogether too comfortable on this planet.]

When he finally made it to the party, it was already well underway. But he did notice, with delight, that the revelers seemed to be lining up for a ballroom dance. How enchanting!

He rather liked events with costumes. The thrill and mystery, the ornate pieces and fancy finger foods. He had spent altogether too long coming up with his look for the evening, though he wasn’t entirely satisfied with it. But he was proud to show it off because it had been very hard to source and he was already so invested.

The doublet formed a dainty V around his middle, not too sharp, just enough to be stylish. The linen shirt beneath was a rich mid-tone red, which contrasted nicely with the black of the doublet and the gold stitching around the hemlines. The mask was very simple, black cloth, shaped over a very thin layer of clay which formed to his face. Delicate, but fetching.

It was a big step away from his usual color palette. Several days prior, a stranger on the side of the road had inspired him with a compliment, she had seen him standing beside a red curtain and told him the shade suited him. It had been so flattering he had decided to try it out. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced it did suit him, though it was too late now and he had committed to the experiment. He did rather love the look, he just thought it might be something that Crowley was more likely to wear.

The Pavane was starting. He wasn’t very good at dancing, but he did love to watch. The bright colors and swirling fabrics were just so beautiful.

**::**

The night was off to a good start. There was music and revelry, people dancing and plenty of food. The ballroom itself was draped lavishly in colorful silks, and a few rather ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The walls were practically dripping with the trappings of wealth. It would have been, Crowley thought to himself, the perfect place to stir up some trouble. It had been a while since he’d enjoyed a good scandal. The only problem with this plan, however, was the fact that he really didn’t know who anyone was. Not only because he hadn’t been in Venice long this time around, but because nearly every single person in the room was wearing a mask.

He did enjoy the glamor of such a production. The care and joy which had been poured into the costumes, and the surprising variety of methods used to conceal identities was, admittedly, impressive. Some wore grand affairs, feathers and headdresses and large fabric constructions which hid even one’s hair away. Some wore porcelain or clay pieces, perfectly sculpted to their faces and painted intricately with birds and flowers, patterns or lace. He saw a handful of metal masks, beaten copper and gold, carefully made by the finest of smiths and probably cost a fortune.

His own costume was a simple ensemble, though he had gone to great lengths to make it so. He had been inspired by a painting he’d seen recently which bore a striking resemblance to someone he knew. The painting itself had been a gruesome scene, but the basic gist had been about an angel with a sword pointed to the chest of a young man who, if one looked closely, didn’t seem all that worried about the sword. He rather looked excited about it.

The angel in the image had a large bright cloth wrapped around their eyes and wore a toga that tantalizingly slipped off the shoulder.

His mask was, regrettably, not a bright cloth wrapped around his head. He had tried several variations of this and several minor miracles to try to make it work, but he had never quite been satisfied. In the end, he had gone with a simple white porcelain piece he’d seen in a window. It had some tiny silver inlay in tasteful location, but that was as fancy as it got.

While he had been inspired by the toga in the painting, and he did to some degree miss the freedom of such a garment, Crowley hadn’t quite deemt it appropriate to attend a masquerade in Venice. So he had instead created a pale blue doublet boasting intricate embroidery, which was layered over a linen shirt with large, carefully draped sleeves, and a golden broach on one shoulder which kept a half-cape in place. White hose had been added, because it was a chilly night in the middle of Winter, along with a comfortable pair of light blue shoes. He found the outfit most amusing when he had given himself a careful once-over before the party and he’d thought to himself, off-handedly, that it looked not unlike something he would expect Aziraphale to wear.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Crowley’s mouth as he stood by the musicians and watched the revelry from the sidelines. And then his eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Crowley gawped.*

[*He wouldn’t have admitted it, not even if someone had invented the polaroid camera four hundred years early and taken a picture for proof.]

It wasn’t all that unusual at this point that the two of them should run into each other, but this was… interesting. He needed a closer look. Collecting himself and grinning wickedly, Crowley began to slink around the edge of the room.

**::**

“Almost make you wonder, doesn't it?”

The demon might as well have materialized out of thin air beside Aziraphale, who jumped quite spectacularly. Crowley allowed himself to bask in his glee but managed, with impressive effort, to keep it out of his voice. “Just what forces could have conspired to result in this little phenomenon?”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked, a little annoyed, until he recognized Crowley. He relaxed. Just a little. “What phenomenon?”

Crowley gestured to their respective outfits.

“Ah!” The angel blushed. “Yes, this. Someone suggested it.” He shifted, tugging at the edge of the doublet.

Crowley took a lap around the angel for a better view of the outfit. “I think you look fine,” He finally said, settling on Aziraphale’s left.

“Oh, well, thank you.” Aziraphale puffed up a little. He inspected his doublet, brushing free a crumb, and then turned to give Crowley’s ensemble proper consideration. “Is that a half cape?” Was all he could think to say.*

[*It was not all he could think to look at. He had more questions only he wasn’t sure how to frame them]

“What are you doing here anyway?” Crowley asked conversationally. “You never said anything about being sent to Venice. We could have flipped for it. Sort of the whole point of an ‘Arrangement’.”

“Well, I wasn’t technically sent here, you see. I sort of, took a vacation. I really wanted to see these parties, I’d heard rumors about Venetian courts. I’ll be getting back to my duties tomorrow.” He looked a little wistful, gazing out over the swirling bodies. “It really is quite something.”

“Mmn,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale had just begun eyeing a table piled high with appetizing platters when the demon spoke again. “There’s to be another ball, in December. A wedding, I think. I’m supposed to go, inspire scandal, and suchlike.”

“Another ball? Ah, perhaps I’ll get a chance to wear something more my own style, this black is distracting.” Picking carefully at the mask draped over his nose Aziraphale decided that this look, while initially exciting, was not for him.


	2. December 4th, 1531 - Venice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone shows up and gives Aziraphale pause.

Aziraphale was carefully gathering his shoes from the floor of the tiny inn in which he had been staying. They were a little bit stained, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it the night before. He thought about how he might clean them - possibly a bit of soap and a damp washcloth?

It took him several minutes of muttering to himself before he gave up and blew gently on the shoes instead. The stain drifted off of them, and danced through the air for a few seconds as it dissipated.

Satisfied that his wardrobe for the night was now ready, Aziraphale nodded to himself, picked up his pale blue lace mask, and turned around to see a very confused-looking angel standing just behind him.

It took both of them several seconds to react to being seen. Aziraphale was first, nearly dropping the shoes in his hands and taking a hurried step back. He recognized them as the angel who had previously accompanied Gabriel only a few months prior. “What are you doing here?” Aziraphale demanded.

The other angel blubbered for a moment, trying to explain, but found they were having a harder time adjusting to the new mouth than they had bargained for. They stopped, shook their head, and tried again. “I have… come… for newsss.” they said carefully.

“News?” Aziraphale gawked. The other angel brightened and nodded their head. “What news?”

Their smile dropped slightly. “Why.. are you in Venice… again?”

Aziraphale blanched. “Well, I uh,” He floundered for a moment, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why he had spent the last two nights here, rather than in Mexico, where he had been assigned. He couldn’t yet come up with an explanation, so instead his mind gave him a tactic to stall for time. “Who are you, again? And why isn’t Michael or Gabriel checking up on me?”

A flash of annoyance passed over their face. Aziraphale got the impression this was a reaction to one or both names he had mentioned just now, and not a reflection on the name he hadn’t. “They were… busy.”

“Ah yes. They often are. But again, what was your name?”

The angel softened a bit. “Ixnael,” they whispered. “Principality.”

“A pleasure.”

Both Angels looked at each other awkwardly.

“Oh, right! Updates, I plum forgot. You see, I heard rumors of a wiley demon in the area and I figured I would come... check it out.” There it was, his excuse. Took it long enough. A little bit flimsy but better than nothing. Aziraphale’s stance relaxed substantially, and he finally put the shoes down on a chair.

“We could have sent another to watch this... demon,” Ixnael said haltingly. “You were told to be in… Tep- Tequi... Tep-ea-quilla, there is a church to be built.”

“I have a couple of errands to finish up here, I’ll head back tomorrow.”

Ixnael didn’t look convinced. “You will be expected to resume your duties... post haste.” In fact they looked almost frustrated.

“Jolly good, I’ll get right on that.” Aziraphale said, but they were already gone.

**::**

“Something’s bothering you, innit?” Crowley pried. As much for a distraction from her own tormented thoughts as an actual interest in the angel’s feelings. Her mask, as good as it looked, all black and red web-like lace across her eyes, it itched something fierce.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Aziraphale said, a touch testily.

“Right, yeah,” Crowley conceded, “O’course.” She leaned back a few inches and dropped the question, turning to watch a couple of strangers passing by, hand in hand and whispering sweetly. At least, she pretended to drop the question, her interest was less focused on the strangers as it was on the silent countdown in her head. 

Four... three… two...

“Alright fine.” Aziraphale huffed, shuffling uncomfortably. Had anyone been paying the least bit of attention to the angel at that moment, they would have been given the unmistakable impression of a small bird puffing out its chest in an effort to look bigger.*

[*Not in any particular effort to scare away a predator or in fear of one’s life; more like an effort to readjust his bow-tie as a physical symptom of steeling oneself for an unpleasant conversation, with said predator. {Ignoring of course that birds do not, as a general rule, wear bow-ties without human intervention, this is still an apt metaphor.}]

Crowley only narrowly avoided breaking into an amused grin. She knew the Angel well. She absently scratched at her temples below her mask.

“I was just worried, you know? Another principality turned up to check on me today, they asked why I wasn’t in Mexico. I was so worried, I thought I’d been discovered for sure, I almost didn’t come!” Aziraphale’s breath hitched and he looked down. Ever so softly, quiet enough that Crowley almost missed it, he whispered, “What if they followed me here?”

Crowley considered this.

What if they had followed him here? Technically, neither of them were doing anything notably suspicious. Except perhaps that Aziraphale was not where he was supposed to be, he still planned to be back shortly. This hopefully meant that the both of them being here could be waved off as coincidence.

It also could provide her with excellent cover, Crowley realized. She was _ supposed _ to be inciting scandal and whispering in influential ears, but she had to admit that she didn’t _ want _ to. She rather fancied a night off. She could report with minimal suspicion that she was being watched and therefore hadn’t been able to complete her task. It wouldn’t be a serious blow to her credentials. After all she _ had _ been up to _plenty_ lately.

“I don’t sense anyone, do you?”

“Other than you, no.” The angel didn’t look comforted.

“We don’t know for sure that they know anything. Besides, we’ve got masks, no one can say for sure who we are here.” It was a pretense, a band-aid. Neither of them addressed it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, hesitantly. “What do you think they would do? If we were… found out?”

What would ‘they’ do? Crowley seriously doubted they’d be as vicious as Hell would, they may not be nice but it couldn’t be anything as serious as a bloody discorporation and 100 years in a pit of sulfur. Not that Crowley was actually 100% certain Hell would do that, she’d very carefully avoided such punishments, but she wouldn’t put it past them. Perhaps the angel would get a rap on the knuckles and a break from field work.

A break. Who knows how long that might be. Perhaps even permanent.

Crowley didn’t want to think about it.

Instead, what she said aloud was: “Best not to speculate.” Crowley’s voice was rough. Her thoughts slipped back to the Gate in Eden, thousands of years ago, when she had heard Aziraphale say the exact same thing. At the time she’d thought it trite. She kicked herself.

But it seemed to do the trick. Aziraphale straightened a little and bit his lip. Crowley also pretended not to notice this.

In a moment of flared irritability, she reached up and miracled the damned thing on her face to get rid of the tiny little spot of irritation. The mask obediently softened, and pulled itself delicately into position away from the skin of her temples. Much better.

The two of them sat, not entirely miserably, by the edge of the party for much of the night. When it was over, they shared a brief moment of mutual solace, shared one last cup of wine, and said their goodbyes. They didn’t have the heart for much more at the moment. And though they didn’t voice it again, they each had their worries.


	3. January 23rd, 1567 - Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley runs into a spot of trouble.

It had been a couple decades since they had seen each other, the last being a brief Arrangement-related encounter in early 1541 where a flip of the coin had sent Aziraphale to Greenwich for a series of temptations. This had resulted in quite the scandal, and at least one beheading by the end of the year. Crowley had suspected the angel resented this, but she’d recently received an invitation bearing no return address from an unmistakable source.

That evening, on her way to the ball, Crowley could not shake the distinct impression that she was being followed.

She took a few extra turns, walked through an alley when she thought no one was looking, and tried everything else she could think of to discourage a tail. However, the feeling persisted.

Presenting as she was for the night, lace collar and a carefully contrived waistline, she briefly worried that she would have to deal with an uninvited temptation. The thought wrinkled her nose, and she considered switching to a more offensive strategy before another, more worrisome explanation presented itself. Could the presence following her be celestial in origin?

She stopped under a lamp, no one particularly nearby, and looked around. “If you’re following me, you’re doing a bloody terrible job at staying hidden.” She said softly. Though most humans would not have been able to hear her clearly if at all, a celestial being would have heard it for blocks. “Show yourself.” She waited patiently.

Not ten seconds later, she could feel the other being ooze up to her, and turned to look. The demon was short, with murky green eyes and he seemed about as bored as one could be. He looked a bit more human than some demons bothered to, his usual amphibious companion hidden behind an illusion of shoulder-length, grubby brown hair. He was smoking a pipe, the thick grey smoke billowing from his lips, and he blew it in the face of a stranger who just so happened to walk too close. The stranger choked, glared at him, and hurried into the bakery two doors down.

“Guess you caught me,” He said sluggishly.

“Don’t imagine you were trying too hard.” Crowley replied, icily. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Call me Ket.”

“What do you want?”

The shorter demon flicked something off his coat and took another deep pull. “I don’t want anything. I’m just supposed to check on how you’re doing. Have you been securing souls?”

“I’m on my way to a party in a palace in 16th century Venice, what do you think?”

“I tempted a banker today, put thoughts of theft and embezzlement into his mind. It will be glorious, just you wait and see.” He took another long puff from his pipe, and then began to blow it out of his mouth directly up into his nose.

Crowley looked away, irritated. “Are you quite finished? I have places to be.”

“Sure you do. That pretty thing from the last ball gonna be there?” Ket said it so casually, so disinterestedly, that it took Crowley a moment to register what he’d said. “Back in ‘31. You two seemed chummy, wonder who it was?”

Crowley acted before she realized it herself, shoving the other against a wall and hissing angrily. She could hear his pipe hit the cobblestones. “Don’t follow me again.” She spat. “I’m in the middle of something. Go back to Hell, and tell the higher ups where they can shove it.”

In one fluid motion, Crowley dropped him, spun on her heel, and was walking up the street as if nothing had ever happened. She didn’t bother to turn around to see what Ket did next, she really didn’t care. Dozens of thoughts spun around her head, each one a little more horrifying than the last.

Thirty one? Did he mean 1531? Clearly they had been spotted, but how much did Hell know? Perhaps not very much, there hadn’t been a punishment yet. But what if they knew more than Ket had let on?

What if this was a test? What if Aziraphale was also being followed? What if they were both under suspicion? What if she had just inadvertently confirmed those suspicions? What if their little ‘Arrangement’ had already been discovered? What if this was just the first sign of a worse plot to punish her and the angel? What if they were about to be dragged away from each other, kicking and screaming? What if they never saw each other again?

The last thought drew her up short.

She frowned, and considered her options.

She could just go to the wedding. Easy, simple, she was already halfway there. Pros: She would see Aziraphale which meant interesting company, and maybe there would be decent wine. Cons: They might still be spotted. She didn’t sense Ket anymore, or anyone else of celestial stock in the area. But she had mentioned where she would be so it wasn’t secure.

She could… not go to the wedding. Pros: If she treated the situation as if she couldn’t care less, Hell would think she had no attachments and probably leave Aziraphale alone. Cons: She had already geared herself up for a night out, was already dressed, and her own company was far less interesting. Plus, the idea of standing the angel up sounded more than a little depressing.

Crowley blessed.

**::**

Aziraphale stood at the edges of the festivities, his hair perfectly coiffed and his new shoes were perfectly spotless. He’d given up the black doublet for one in a more comfortable light grey, and he wore a smile on his face.

A young woman, barely 24 and certainly not dressed for the occasion sidled up next to the angel. She looked nervous, her eyes darting left and right, and when she spoke it was with such hushed tones that even Aziraphale (being not human at all) had trouble hearing her over the music. “A-rooster-fell?” She mumbled.

“Speak up, just a little dear,” Aziraphale said.

“Are you Master Fell?” She asked again.

“Who’s asking?” He looked her over speculatively. “Are you one of the maids?”

“Yes sir. A red-haired Lady in dark glasses told me to give you a message. I was told to look for white hair, probably off to the side near the buffet.”

Aziraphale tittered, and took an inconspicuous step away from the nearest table.* “Yes, I am Mister Fell. What sort of message do you have for me?” He asked politely.

[*: The fact that this table currently held a wide assortment of delectable appetizers is neither here nor there.]

“I don’t know sir, I can’t read.” She pulled a small envelope from her skirts and handed it to him. “I should go now, I’m not supposed to be out here during the party.”

“Thank you very much.” Aziraphale smiled brightly at the maid, and dropped a couple of coins into her hand. “You do be careful now.”

She gratefully pocketed the money and slipped away. He watched her weave around the edges of the room. The guards at the door looked annoyed but let her pass without trouble.

He opened the letter, popping the seal with a casual flick, and held it up to the light.

> _ Been followed. Couldn’t make it. _

The note also contained a date, and an address.

Aziraphale sighed, dropping the letter into his pocket to be discarded later. He finished his glass of wine, and left shortly after.


	4. March 16th, 1567 - Florence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several interesting events lead to our protagonists getting wet. A conversation with many meanings.

Crowley walked for several minutes, contemplating how to explain to the angel that they had done it to protect him. Without admitting that they had done anything at all to protect him. Because that would be silly, they were enemies. A few hundred years of an Arrangement didn’t change that, did it? They supposed it might fit under the implications of said Arrangement, if they really squinted. But it certainly wouldn’t go down well if either Head Office caught even the smallest whiff of it.

Ket had, thankfully, not been seen since. Nor had another other demon that they could tell. They’d been keeping a careful eye out, even for other angels. One could never be too careful. Of course, one couldn’t always know for certain, they had escaped identification themselves several times. Celestial senses weren’t perfect, even if they were more reliable than human ones.

They stopped, and realized that they had been walking for several minutes but had not been watching where they were going. The street was unfamiliar, shops they’d never heard of lined the street. It was just starting to get dark, there were fewer passersby, and a link-boy stood near an overhang, offering his services with a torch.

“You there,” Crowley called, and the boy straightened up.

“Can I help you sir?” He asked, his dark face made darker by a smudge of unknown origin and his teeth a little crooked. “I can take you anywhere you need to go, sir!”

“I just need directions,” Crowley said, “Can you point me in the direction of the palace?”

“I like your mask. New in town, sir?” The kid asked.

The demon reached absently to touch the item of praise. It was wooden, thin and delicately carved to resemble some ancient monster, they assumed. “New enough,”

The boy was pointing up the street. “It’s that way. Just a couple blocks and you’ll hit the main street, straight on from there.”

Crowley dropped a coin in the boys hand for his trouble. “You be careful now, some unsavory persons could be lurking.”

The kid looked down at his palm to see a shiny gold florin. When he looked up, the demon was gone.

**::**

Arriving to the party was less glamorous than Crowley had hoped. They suspected that the party planner, or someone equally important, had unexpectedly fallen ill or otherwise disappeared. Banners were awkwardly hung, the musicians looked bemused, and several of the guests were already whispering of leaving the moment Crowley stepped foot in the ballroom.

None of it mattered as soon as Aziraphale came into view.

“Angel,” They greeted, the relief on their voice was unexpected but they didn’t try to hide it. “I want to apologize.”

“Whatever for, my dear?” The smile that lit Aziraphale’s face was bright, and Crowley found themselves relaxing ever so slightly at the sight of it.

“For standing you up in January.”

“If you were worried about being followed, I can hardly blame you. And I wouldn’t call sending a note standing me up. It’s better form than many subscribe to.” The angel smiled politely and breathed a greeting to a Gentleman in a mask reminiscent of a great cat as he walked past.

She was… breathtaking tonight. It was rare to see Aziraphale present so. Her dress was several decades out of fashion, not unusual to Crowley’s frequent dismay.* But the pale grey puffed sleeves and the high neckline suited her. The delicate cut of the white mask on her face complimented rosy cheeks, and the shape of the lower edges drew attention to the supple curve of her lips.

[*The angel had a habit of sticking to a favored wardrobe just a bit longer than necessary. She had been known to jump onto something new from time to time, with mixed results, but Crowley didn’t tend to push it unless it was a true emergency. Thankfully, the demon had been around to hear the words “I wonder if I could pull off a codpiece.” muttered aloud before anything regrettable came of it.]

Crowley looked away, taking in the room again and grimacing. The musicians were still bemused, and had started a new song they clearly hadn’t practiced very much. Someone was shouting in a room nearby, just loud enough that the celestial beings were not the only ones aware of it.

“Angel,” They nodded, pointedly bobbing their head to indicate that several of the flames in the candelabras above were no longer burning. As they watched, at least three more danced precariously, and flickered out. It _ was _ a little drafty. “Let’s get out of here. This party blows.”

“You just arrived!” Aziraphale protested, but the look on her face betrayed her agreement.

They left as surreptitiously as they could, Crowley snatching a bottle of wine as they passed the refreshments. Aziraphale grabbed two more and somehow they managed to hide them under their skirts.

**::**

Some hours later, they spilled out onto the street, both of them giggling too hard to breathe and trying not to trip over their own shoes. They had entirely forgotten to bring cups with them* and had resorted to taking turns drinking the wine directly from the bottle.

[*: Or miracle some into existence.]

Crowley and Aziraphale had just been kicked out of a cozy little bar by a handsome woman named Patrizia, who had very quickly gotten sick of the two strangers talking very loudly of temptations and the nature of trees. She hadn’t exactly known what “deciduous” or “chlorophyll” meant, but it sounded like gobbledigook and she didn’t fancy listening to any more off-key ditties or big words. She was also fairly convinced that if these two customers drank anymore it would kill them, and she didn’t want to be held responsible for that.

The sky was dark now, and the party had long since been abandoned. No one was around by the time the angel and demon somehow made their way back to the palace where they had started the night. They found themselves in the gardens, surrounded by leafy greens, and the bravest of the flowers were just starting to peek out to greet the coming equinox.

Crowley took off their shoes, balancing on the edge of a fountain. Their face was screwed up in deep concentration as they found the task of walking much more difficult than expected on the narrow lip.

The angel looked distantly worried, cooing little entreaties like “Be careful, dear.” and “Please don’t fall, I’d hate to have to explain your discorporation to the gentry.”

Eventually, Crowley gave up, dropping their shoes into the grass and jumping straight into the fountain. Their skirts quickly soaked up the water, growing heavier by the second. It was an unanticipatedly pleasant sensation.

Aziraphale squeaked in surprise, her own dress splattered in unexpected water and she whined absently about having to dry out all her layers.

“You’re an angel, angel.” Crowley murmured, mirth bubbling from deep in their chest.

“Oh.” She blinked, and then laughed right along. “You’re absolutely right.” And then she was hopping up onto the lip of the fountain and jumping in right after them.

The two of them lay back in the water, looking up at an expertly carved statue.

Crowley had no idea which gods or characters the fountain portrayed, if any. It appeared to be two entangled bodies, ambiguous in shape and both right hands ever so carefully cupping the backs of each other’s heads. They were locked in a loving gaze, left hands held behind their backs in dramatic silhouette. Water trickled down their dropped shoulders, into a dish a foot away from Crowley’s head, before falling into the main body of the fountain where the angel and demon floated. Fine droplets occasionally landed on their faces, tickling sweetly.

“Do you ever think, maybe you’ll get to fall in love?” The words were out before they realized, and it was all they could do to play it cool instead of blushing furiously and trying to take it back. It was a deep, private reflection. One that Crowley had quietly ruminated on for a very long time. Perhaps the cold water had had an unexpected affect? They didn’t feel very drunk anymore.

“My dear, where did that come from?” The angel asked.

“The fountain, I guess. They look like they’re in love, don’t they?”

Aziraphale looked up at the fountain before speaking. “I don’t know if angels or demons are capable of falling in love.” she said eventually. “To be honest I don’t know if humans are either. It seems a very romanticized notion to me.”

Crowley hadn’t known they could have been disappointed by the answer, but it did seem bleak. “It sounds nice, I think. Caring about someone so much. It might be nice, is all.”

“I already care about people,” She sounded like she was contemplating her words very carefully. Crowley didn’t want to look at her face. “From what I’ve seen, love can get people into a lot of trouble. What’s the point of getting into such a mess?”

“Sometimes, messy is worth it. Like eating a juicy plum, or jumping into a fountain, or stomping through a mud puddle just because you can.” They weren’t exactly set on _ finding _ love; but it seemed a very interesting and abstract concept. Crowley liked to try to make sense of the abstract. Not necessarily in the pursuit of experiencing it, merely... understanding.

“Just because you can...” Aziraphale echoed. They sat in silence for a few moments more. And then, “Have you ever?”

Crowley blinked. “Ever what?”

“Fallen in love?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you suppose you always know? When you have.”

“I don’t reckon it’s always obvious, no. Maybe sometimes it sneaks up on you, like a stalking lion.”

Aziraphale laughed a little breathlessly. “A lion coming to gobble you up. Maybe when it pounces is the moment you realize? It’s too late, and you can’t get away no matter how hard you struggle. You missed the signs, missed the danger. You’re in it now.”

Neither of them could think of anything else to say after that.


	5. August 1612 - Kanagawa Prefecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets an unexpected visitor.

They hadn’t seen each other since the Globe.

After the strange conversation in the fountain, they had forgotten to make further plans. They’d only managed to meet at the Globe when Crowley had quite miraculously received a letter asking him to meet among the crowds. There hadn’t actually been any crowds.

With Aziraphale headed to Edinbrugh so shortly after, Crowley had found he wasn’t actually all that sure what to do with himself. So he had set about weaving a small series of miracles culminating in the success of a play he himself wasn’t all that invested in; but he’d promised the angel and he was going to make good on it.

Three years later he’d run out of things to do in London, and had spent a brief stint in Germany before he’d received new orders to head to Japan.

The very first years of what would come to be known as the Edo period were quite hectic. So close to a change in power, it had been hard to earn favor, but he’d managed to at least get himself a ringside seat with occasional opportunities to whisper in the right ears.

Things were tense, as they usually were this close to a world leader, and Crowley wasn’t exactly unused to suspicion. But that night in the middle of August, he found himself again the target of an unseen foe, and this time it didn’t take him long to determine that it wasn’t human.

**::**

It was late, the sun already below the horizon and the birds were settling in for the night. He’d been at a party, and was already pretty sloshed by the time he decided it was time to head home.

He’d only gotten a glimpse, but it was all it took. A flash of platinum blonde hair behind a fence, the faintest scent of ozone and ethereal magic. He’d almost thought it was Aziraphale, but why would he hide from him? A prank? Wasn’t much his style. And then he’d gotten a better look when they peered again. Definitely not Aziraphale, this angel had longer hair and was much smaller in frame. Why was an angel following him?

“Who’re you?” He slurred, before he realized this was probably a bad idea and that he should get as far away as possible. Angels and demons didn’t mix (his own strange situation notwithstanding) and this could turn ugly real quick.

It was almost disappointing to will himself into sobriety, he’d been looking forward to the nap. He liked to make use of the hazy, warm feeling while it lasted, and the fact that he never had to worry about hangovers made it all the more appealing. But as soon as he felt the alcohol leave his system he felt the adrenaline take its place, and he remembered the last time he’d been cornered by another celestial. What’s-his-name had threatened Aziraphale. He needed to be able to think.

Whoever it was had ducked down out of sight, but he could tell they weren’t gone. “I know you’re there, let’s get this over with.”

After a few seconds, the angel appeared a third time, stepping out from behind the fence. They looked sheepish, but quickly squared their shoulders, and stopped several paces away. They said nothing.

“Well, what do you want?” He was quickly getting sick of getting no responses.

“I’m simply here to keep an eye on someone, you happened to be nearby.” The angel sniffed.

“So you’re not following me?” He asked.

“Well, I was, only because you were sniffing about nearby. You’re not my main objective here. But if you get in my way I may yet have to smite you.”

Crowley had a hard time keeping a smirk off his face. “Smite me? Don’t you think that’s a little premature?”

The angel deflated. “Truth be told I’d rather not smite anyone, it seems such a chore. But you saw me sooner than most, so I figured I’d get the bluster out of the way as quickly as possible.”

“You’re terrible at hiding, how could anyone not notice you?”

“Well, Aziraphale hasn’t seen me the last several times, and humans don’t seem to notice me at all.” The angel seemed to be crossing names off in their head as they tapped their own fingers in a counting motion.

“Hang on, you’re here for Aziraphale?” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. Crowley froze. He’d tipped his cards, he’d shown too much. Bless his loose tongue and his insatiable curiosity and this nervous angel’s innocent act! He might as well still be drunk for all he’d bungled this.

“Well, only technically. I rather like the on-the-ground assignments. A chance to stretch my wings, so to speak! Not that I get much time to actually, you know, use my wings. Humans generally don’t handle that very well.” The angel hadn’t seemed to have picked up on his slip. Perhaps there was a chance he’d get out of this, perhaps they hadn’t noticed? “Do you… know where he is?”

Crowley swallowed dryly and shook his head. “No. Haven’t seen him.”

“Heck.” The look on their face was comical, Crowley desperately wanted to laugh but found all further attempts at producing noise stuck in his throat. The angel turned around and began to walk away. “Don’t cause too much trouble, we’ll be watching you, etc. etc.” They disappeared behind a tiny noodle stand and that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find a Deleted Scene here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21251339)


	6. September 18th, 1614 - Kanagawa Prefecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tells Aziraphale about his visitor.

Menkake Gyoretsu was in full swing, demons and spirits roamed the streets, and a jovial procession traveled slowly down the road leading from the shrine. Of course, they weren’t actual demons. Had this been the case there would undoubtedly have been a lot more fire, and death. And worse. The peons of Hell did have a flair for the dramatic.

It was surprisingly easy though, amidst all the activity, for the angel to find the one true demon in a sea of brightly colored masks.

Aziraphale approached Crowley this time, sidling up beside him near the front of the procession. “A Tengu, really my dear?" They asked, over the music.

"What, do you like it?" Crowley didn’t appear to be startled, he’d probably sensed the angel coming. How they recognized each other at this point was beyond them both. Perhaps it was just familiarity.

"A little on the nose, don't you think?"

The demon laughed. “You got me there,” He grinned, “Okame suits you.”

As they walked along the street together among the revelers, a couple of children who had wandered off from their parents came weaving excitedly through the crowds underfoot, hoping to catch a glimpse of the front of the procession.

Crowley waved his arms around, and shouted “Little ones, slow down! I’ll turn you into pups, you wait and see!” They squealed with delight, as he slowly chased them around his feet, and they ran off shortly after. Aziraphale could not see his face, but they knew Crowley was smiling.

**::**

After a couple of hours, the two of them decided that they had had enough of the party, and went off on their own. They took a walk, managing to avoid the majority of the festival by keeping an ear out for where the drums were headed.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves meandering along the edge of Sagami bay, talking animatedly about their recent travels since they’d seen each other last.

“I hadn’t been in France since… oh it was many years ago. It was very beautiful that summer.” Aziraphale enthused. “I should like to go back someday, get a closer look at some of the architecture. They were starting some truly impressive projects when I left.”

“Humans are always building things. Don’t they ever get tired of it?” Crowley had taken off his mask, lifted it to the top of his head to rest on his hair. It gave him a silly profile, and Aziraphale had giggled more than once already. It made Crowley smile, a tiny twitch to his thin-line mouth every time the angel laughed. “I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me what, dear?” Aziraphale bent down to pick up a rock from the shore. Their storm-grey eyes sparkled just a bit as they examined it, round and flat and a shiny muted green. The angel pulled their arm back and sent the rock skipping with astounding speed; it bounced at least 9 times before dropping into the water for good.

“I ran into one of your coworkers.”

The angel froze. “When was this?”

“Two years ago.”

“Oh.” They were silent, contemplating this information for a little while. “What happened?”

Crowley frowned in concentration, recalling the strange angel’s words. “They asked me if I had seen you.”

“Who was it?”

“Never gave a name. Blonde like you, average height, somewhat distracted.”

“Probably Ixnael. They do seem to get a little overwhelmed when they come down, poor thing.” Crowley didn’t answer. “Did they know?”

“Can’t be sure. Said they were keeping an eye on you.”

They were both silent for several minutes, walking along the shore, occasionally kicking pebbles. The moon was just peeking over the horizon, the last pink hints of twilight fading into navy blue. The bay was still, more still than usual as a couple of boats made their way home from adventures untold.

“Perhaps we should… stay out of each other’s way for a while.” Crowley said at length. “Just to throw them off our tails, yaknow.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Aziraphale said, their voice hollow.


	7. October 31st, late 1600s - Somewhere in Ireland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All they remember is that there was a festival.

This one had been entirely accidental.

It was Hallowtide, when the sheep were grazing, getting fat, and the crops had been harvested with little nuisance. The music was merry and the party would last all night long.

The bonfire was bright, young couples placing nuts in the flames and sheepishly hoping for a quiet burn. Grotesque costumes and elaborate disguises were worn with glee and the loud music drove most of the local wildlife far away, hopefully taking the spirits with them.

Their eyes met across the fire, nodding ever so slightly, the first time they had seen each other in decades. Crowley wore a mask of leather covering half his face, dyed in reds and oranges and cut to match the fallen leaves. Aziraphale’s was much simpler, pale porcelain, marbled to the effect of a statue with eyes too lifelike.

They had both been very drunk already, plenty of wine at such a party, and found themselves drawn to a path not too far away. A break, from the festivities, a chance to clear their heads.

Yet again they found themselves near water, a lake not far from town. A quiet beach they had found miraculously* empty, and a tiny brook babbling softly down a gentle hill.

[*Not actually miraculous on the part of the celestials, it was a genuine mystery why no young lovers or misty-eyed poets had yet sought this place out. It might have been the truly delicious food, or the overall comfortable sense of community that blanketed the town this evening.]

They spoke not of work, instead remarking on some of the people they had met, the things they had done. Crowley was excitedly trying to describe a dance he’d seen once. He’d watched the dancers swishing about in a courtyard and been convinced the angel would find it breathtaking.

“I don’t know what it’s called, but I saw it in Ausberg. It was mesmerizing”

“Was that that one where you uhm…” Aziraphale trailed off, kicking his foot absently in a fashion reminiscent of a lively sarabande.

“No no, angel. It’s a partner dance, you do it like this.” Crowley laughed and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. With an awkward twist that, had it been anyone else would have resulted in a pileup of limbs and scraped knees, he pulled the angel close and put his other hand on Aziraphale’s hip.

Surprised at the unexpected movement, his vision blurring, Aziraphale had only a fraction of a second to consider his trajectory, and his unclasped hand found its way to Crowley’s shoulder. He found it amusing in the distant, hazy way that alcohol makes everything amusing.

The world grew still.

Something unspoken passed between them, a series of glances that may or may not have actually been correctly interpreted on either side, yet still resulted in the same conclusion.

They were close, wrapped around each other in the moonlight, which was by no uncertain terms against the rules on both their sides. And they hadn’t been smited. Smote?

Conceivably... the alcohol was to blame. They were both piss drunk and had until seconds ago been giggling unflatteringly. They were still unsteady, the proximity and arms wrapped softly around each other the only thing keeping them both upright. It might count as a barrier, an extenuating circumstance. This seemed flimsy, was there another rationale?

Perhaps, it was the masks? It wasn’t unheard of, mistaken identity. Even in circles where magic and divinity were commonplace. If they were anonymous here, as they had been pretending for the last few hundred years... perhaps they hadn’t been pretending after all.

But surely there were powers beyond even that. If no-one else, the very top of the ladder and holder of infinite stakes would undoubtedly know. And it was expressly forbidden... wasn’t it? Weren’t there consequences for this?

Consequences for what? What was... this?

It was incontrovertibly something; though it danced away from the effort to define it, laughing the sound of water spilling lazily over small pebbles at the far end of the lake. A memory of a fountain breezed through the air, and faded away.

They were still, officially at least, enemies. This didn’t sit comfortably, it was merely pretense at this point. They were definitely friends, that was certain. But while friends on its own was an entirely comfortable and wonderful thing to be, it probably couldn’t encompass all that they were from a metaphysical standpoint any better than adversaries.

Certainly the Arrangement was a factor, but what did that make them? Coworkers? Definitely not. It was undeniably above acquaintances, they knew each other far too well. Confidants? Moving in the right direction. There were things they knew about each other that no one else could be privy to. Everything from Crowley’s soft spot for children to Aziraphale’s fondness for imperfect things.

Being Beings of Celestial origin, the idea of lovers seemed a little too Earthly, regardless of their unique affinity for the planet. It might be more accurate than many other labels, despite this it still felt taboo. Like crossing yet another line they weren’t entirely confident existed but weren’t ready to test. Too close to Human.

An insect chirped not far away, perched on a thin branch inside a berry bush. Its short, buzzing cry might be mistaken for an unexpected scratchy sensation at the base of one’s skull. Brittle and gone before you knew it, the kind of sensation you perceive as sound but it definitely isn’t. It chirped again, and then took off to find another branch.

Maybe... partners? It didn’t exactly exclude their arch-nemesis status. They could work in tandem while still exhibiting the bare minimum of obedience to their respective sides. It wasn’t going too far to acknowledge their distaste for certain aspects of their duties, it hadn’t been expressed in so many words but it was mutually understood that they had this in common. “Partners” encompassed their tolerance for each other; in harmony with or possibly because of this mutual understanding. It was also plenty ambiguous, which both felt suited the situation, at least for the time being.

Partners could work.

This still felt like crossing a line, except they weren’t dead yet. Or, whatever the immortal equivalent of dead was. Extinct? Defunct? Expired?

They could still pull away now, avoid the possibility of retribution entirely. Let go, turn the other cheek, retreat with their tails between their legs and pretend it never happened.

But they didn’t want to.

That was the biggest question yet, why? Why, after so many thousand years, through terse agreements and cordial assistance and even the occasionally spectacular row, their Arrangement and whatever else they had been up to, why did they actually want to be nowhere other than right here? The physical manifestation of affection aside, the intimacy of the moment was almost dangerously comfortable. Nowhere else could they be this calm, this open. There was nowhere else that little spark of serenity could exist than right now. It had only ever been right here.

Somewhere along the line, though one could never be certain where, the barriers between them had begun to blur. They were thinking the same thoughts, gazes locked together, seeing much, much more than eyes ever could. The masks on their faces might as well have not existed, they had never seen each other so clearly. The sounds of the lake, gently lapping against the beach had become a subtle, relaxing catalyst for a synchronization neither knew possible.

This synchronization, (or perhaps, harmony) was simultaneously incredibly terrifying and altogether effortless. The walls were still there, but were suddenly permeable. Optional, should one choose to pass through, but not immediately relevant. In tender awe, they stoked the fragile edges, reveling in the sensation of coherence. They contemplated what could be if they chose to push just a little more, dissolving what remained of the barriers and merging in the truest sense.

It was enticing, but this wasn’t the time for that. It was simply time to… browse.

Suddenly, partners didn’t seem all that accurate either. There probably wasn’t a word for this even if one really wanted to make one.

They, [though right now this pronoun would probably be more accurately categorized as a singular rather than a plural] relaxed. There was no need for careful here, this was as natural as existing. More innate than breath.

Time being an illusion, it was probably far longer than it was that they stayed this way. They could have gone much farther, if further helps you understand a hypothetical. It could have lasted longer too. Lifetimes, eons even. But it needn’t be so, not now.

As they slowly, serenely began to drift apart, an unspoken agreement fluttered softly to keep this experience, whatever it had been, in a self-contained bubble. It didn’t need to worry them as they tried to stay under the radar in daily life. But if they ever drifted back it would be there, waiting for them. When they were ready.

**::**

Mere moments had passed.

To the outside observer, two human-shaped creatures had simply shared a drunkenly intimate gaze, swaying gently in the moonlight. The lake providing a rhythmic, swishing melody. To call it dancing would be unfair to literally every trained professional who ever had or would yet live, they were far too uncoordinated. But a sway was really all you needed.


	8. 1921 - Somewhere in Europe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After St. James's park, and an argument.

An angel picks up a bottle of wine, and rolls it around in his hands. An excellent bottle, the contents will age nicely he’s sure of it. A bottle this fine deserves to be shared, and he brightens at the thought.

It hits him them, a wave of melancholy he hadn’t expected. It drowns him, pulls him down, a rip-tide of sorrow threatening tears at the corners of his vision; filling his nose with the scent-memory of leather and cardamom. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, they might have caused a flood.

A familiar, soul-deep worry settles itself back over his shoulders, whispering _ did you miss me? _

He’d almost forgotten.

**::**

He buys several cases.


	9. August 2019 - Soho

In a shop on fire, a being of Hell sat back on his knees and screamed.


	10. August 2019 - Everywhere

The world didn’t end.


	11. August 2019 - Mayfair

Something important brushed against Aziraphale’s mind, as he held Crowley’s hand and they tried something they had never done before.

At least, he was fairly certain they had never done this before.

He’d never heard of it done before, which was what the whole plan hinged on. That no one could suspect something completely out of the blue.

They passed by each other, a state of being beyond solid, liquid, gas or plasma. Slipping softly with a sensation like silk pajamas or a fluffy cat’s fur as it brushed past your leg. He caught a whiff of cardamom, and was briefly transported back to a case of wine they had consumed together only a few years prior. The barest hint of leather, and they were back in the Bentley, speeding down a country road. Old glue and ink, his bookshop. Hundreds upon hundreds of tomes, the flickering light and warmth that grew and grew and grew. The fire licked at him, a living thing, gleefully consuming everything they both held dear.

He stumbled back, wetness in his eyes; blinking away the tears of both heat and loss.

“Hey, Angel.” Aziraphale’s voice said, soft fingers on his chin, and storm-grey eyes watching him closely. “We did it, it’s over. It’s okay.”

They didn’t have time for more than a few steadying breaths. The world was still spinning, but their work was not yet done.


	12. October 31st, 2019 - Tadfield

The Them had insisted on throwing a party at Adam’s house, which had consisted of many episodes of Goosebumps and a lively game of “boffers”*.

[*: “Boffers” are a practice weapon, usually consisting of a PVC pipe and thick foam duct-taped around it. This results in a lightweight tool for simulated combat, often used at ren faires or for LARP-ing. Very effective if used to settle a disgruntlement; injured parties will usually be too busy whacking each other with unbridled glee to remember why they were angry in the first place.]

Aziraphale and Crowley had initially only walked by, determined to simply check-in on the humans who had so recently stared down the four horsemen and won. They had even worn ‘disguises’, as Aziraphale had been determined not to interfere. He had handed Crowley a black plastic mask and a pair of cat ears, but the ears had been left at home. His own mask was identical save for the color, a creamy white.

But somehow, Adam had known they were nearby. He had waved to them through the window and invited them in.

Aziraphale had largely enjoyed the evening tucked into a corner with the adults drinking tea, while Crowley had crammed himself into a tiny chair and gotten far too into the show. Eventually, he had begun telling his own stories, leaving out some of the more gruesome bits, but the children had still been fascinated. He’d gotten more than one encore.

**::**

It was dark out when they finally left, the moon peering through thick clouds which whispered of rain in just a few hours. The last of the trick-or-treaters were the older kids, and the bullheaded toddlers who refused to return to their beds until they had knocked on every single door.

Tadfield felt much less foreboding like this. The threat of apocalypse was safely in the past, no longer polluting the perceptions of the two celestial beings who walked arm in arm toward the nearest orchard.

“This thing itches.” The demon griped.

“You’ve said that before, dear.”

“I know I have, and it keeps being true. What is it about masks that always itch, even though I’ve tried every miracle I can think of to get it to stop?”

“Just take it off.” Aziraphale looked distracted, watching a teenager wearing a fox face run across the street with a flashlight. He was shouting, but neither of them really knew what about. A few other teenagers followed shortly after. When they had disappeared behind a house, their shrieking subsided, the angel said “That mask looked familiar…”

Crowley knew exactly what he meant. “Ah, yes, the Kitsune. Do you remember Japan? Menkake Gyoretsu, our walk around the bay?”

“Oh yes, it was a lovely night. I remember I found a hot spring the next day. That was just before...”

“Yeah…”

“I always wanted to take you to a hot spring.” Aziraphale whispered. “I didn’t know how to bring it up after we…”

Crowley grimaced. “Let’s not dwell on the unpleasant bits. At least for tonight.”

The angel looked relieved. “Agreed. Anyway, I thought it was all rather exciting, what with the masks. Felt a bit… romantic? Stolen moments. Tell me, why ever did we stop meeting like that?”

“I dunno.” Crowley considered this, but something felt a little hazy at the edges of his memory. “When was the last time? I remember there was a lake, and… did we dance?”

“I would hardly call it dancing, but we did sort of… sway, I think. It’s hard to remember but it feels like swaying.” Aziraphale scrunched up his nose in thought. “Perhaps it was Ireland?”

Crowley nodded. “That sounds right.” He considered the memory, hazy and pleasant. And he looked around. The clouds were still rolling slowly in the sky, the grass was slightly damp with the hint of dew. They had reached the orchard, now surrounded by gnarled trees, their branches holding only the last stubborn stragglers from the recent harvest. They were apples. “Should we do it again?”

“I rather think that’s a lovely idea.” The angel smiled.

This time, the embrace was much smoother, deliberate. Aziraphale’s arm found Crowley’s shoulder with purpose, and their other hands knitting together in a firm, affectionate hold.

It still wasn’t dancing. Simply a slow, unhurried movement.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Aziraphale said quietly. “So much quieter than London, and the air is easier to breathe.”

“It’s sweeter.” Crowley agreed. “And the view is much greener.”

“I should like to walk out here more often, I think.” The angel smiled. “It’s such a drive, but it’s worth it.”

“I’ll build you a house, angel. Out here. Anywhere you like. You wouldn’t have to drive so far.”

“Would it have bookshelves, and a garden?”

“Anything you want, angel.”

“If we lived here,” Aziraphale whispered breathlessly. “We could have picnics in the sunlight. And dance under the moonlight whenever we wanted. I could read in a hammock while you tend to the plants.”

“Anything you want, angel.”

Something long since buried in a place far removed from human understanding rolled over, and reached out. It could be felt, just under the tension of the universe, brushing softly at the minds of those who might have been paying attention, and then came back to where it had always been.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked up at each other, and smiled. They were ready.

The author of a story can only portray so much of a concept beyond human understanding with such crude instruments as words. One can probably imagine whatever they want but there is no confirming it as accurate or otherwise.

One could try with an analogy of pouring two glasses of water into each other. The individual atoms had started in separate places, but now they formed a whole. Possibly it had started as a whole way back, before conceivability was conceived, and was now returning to itself with a sigh of relief.

Perhaps it is a dance of tranquility, affection, and abstract thoughts one is only capable of grasping the very furthest edges of while under certain influences, and wholly incomprehensible when one returns to sobriety. One could spend lifetimes writing all the words that exist in every language in every combination and never again so much as touch the evanescent notion. 

It might even help to describe it as the delicate edge of sleep, when one stands on the precipice of the unknown. The split second before the fall, as you lose your balance but it hasn’t sunk in yet. You aren’t scared. You can feel the dreams beneath you even as you wobble, trusting the waves to catch and carry you through a universe of comfort, sensation, and release.

Either way, it remains astronomical, unfathomable, and wholly ineffable.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a frightening amount of research on this and held onto it for months so I could post on Halloween. If you see any historical inaccuracies or anachronisms I'm actually open to learning about it, feel free to tell me so I can make it better, but please in the meantime excuse my bumbling self.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Perhaps, it was the (deleted scene)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21251339) by [RainingPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince)


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